


Chaos Theory

by CountessMillarca



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: AKA The Asylum, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Drama, Humor, Insane Building, OCD, Psychotic Genius, Romance, Starving Author, Swearing, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountessMillarca/pseuds/CountessMillarca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a dreamer, liked alcohol, and swore a lot. He was a genius, liked order, and stressed a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Money Can't Buy Fucks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko.

She was…broke. Jobless, evicted, and spending her last penny at some dodgy bar drinking her woes with rapid gulps, shot after shot of cheap tequila. Kagome groaned, plastered over the bar counter, reeking of alcohol and misery. Being poor…sucked. What in the world had possessed her to screw her life seven ways to hell? Oh, right… _dreams_. Dropping out of law school, leaving the suffocation her father called _home_ , and aspiring to be an author were…dreams. And like all dreams, magnificent screw-ups.

A grin stretched across her lips, and she hiccupped. Raising her glass, Kagome cackled manically.

“Well, here’s to…dreams. Fuck you very much.”

The bartender stole a glance at her but wisely kept quiet, and Kagome gave him a mock-salute, eyes glazed and slipping off her bar stool. She caught herself at the last moment, saving herself the pain and possible medical bills a fall would bring. Not that she could pay those either. Frustration rumbled in her throat, twined with the stirrings of an upset stomach. Kagome grimaced, pushing the half-empty glass away. If she ended up flushing the last of her money down the toilet with the contents of her stomach, this night would be more of a waste than it already was – and she…more pathetic.

Thoughts raced through her mind, half-lucid and out of sequence. Where would she even stay tonight? What would she even wear tomorrow? All her things were in her locked apartment which her landlord had refused her access into until she paid the rents she owed. Two and a half rents, almost two hundred thousand yen. Well…fuck. There was no way Kagome could gather that much money even if she had a job – which she didn’t.

Her only comfort was that she always carried her laptop on her, not that Kagome would ever sell it, but at least she had her words for company. Useless company, useless words. What had they ever done for her besides giving her the guts to live life however the hell she pleased and say fuck anytime she wanted? Her father almost had an aneurysm the day that word had left her lips in his presence.

Laughter gurgled in her mouth. Spitting it in his face just before she had walked out and slammed the door behind her had been worth it. But she’d had _enough_ – enough of being groomed into this perfect, mindless, polite, obedient, emotionless puppet of a daughter to be used and exploited for status and prestige. And money…goddamn money. As if they hadn’t enough. Her family practically swam in wealth for generations now. Even law school wasn’t for the benefit of her career but for making her more appealing, more sophisticated, so she could be sold to the highest bidder. Never mind that she hated law studies. What an insipid thing to be…bloodsuckers and liars, at least the lot who worked for her father.

Kagome _loathed_ money. She’d rather be poor and homeless than loaded and living in a gilded cage. Still, it sucked. Spectacularly.

A sigh worked itself out of her chest, transformed into a sigh half-way through. For the time being, she could drag her drunken self to Sango’s flat and beg to let her stay the night. The underground train had stopped running at this hour though, and there were no more buses. A taxi was out of the question, freakishly expensive. Kagome barely had enough money for the bus ticket she’d been planning to buy. _But no more buses_. She was screwed. Burying her face in her hands, she slapped her cheeks once, twice. Walking it was. If she could manage to walk, let alone stand straight.

Downing the last tequila shot she’d pushed aside earlier, Kagome hissed, lips peeled back and eyes squeezed tight. With another grunt, she swung her feet off the stool, and balanced herself on shaky legs. One wobbly step, and another. Her laptop was nothing but weight in her bag, the straps digging into her shoulder and making her lean to the side, precariously swaying. Somehow, she made it to the exit, only to curse the stairs before her. _Riiight…dodgy bar…basement._ By the time she climbed up the stairs and all but slammed her body against the door, barreling outside, she was a panting mess of sweat and motion sickness.

A waft of cool air assaulted her, but it was too late. Her stomach couldn’t take it anymore. Nails scratching and palms flat against the dirty wall of the back alley, Kagome emptied her stomach, heaving and coughing with violent spasms. _Gods…fucking stupid._ Her knees trembled and her hair was sticking to her face. Kagome wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gasping. Bitterness saturated her tongue – she felt nauseous again. _Please…don’t let me fall._ Dizziness hazed her mind, blacked her senses, and she would have passed out if she hadn’t slapped herself.

What a sight she must have made… If reporters ever caught the princess of the Higurashi empire in such a dreadful state, they’d have a field day. A bark of laughter escaped her mouth, rang high-pitched and mad in the quiet alley. Kagome barely made it two steps farther before her legs gave out on her. The fall didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected, the cement cold and gritty under her cheek. _Get up…fucking get up_. But no matter how much she struggled, her brain refused to heed the command and send out the signals to her dead limbs. Kagome lay limp and twitching on the ground, lids heavy and growing heavier. The world became a dim blur, or maybe she was crying, and she hated crying – then _nothing_. No dimness, no tears.

* * *

 

Her bed was so soft and warm – but it strangely smelled of…detergent, and something unfamiliar. Kagome burrowed her face into the pillow, tried to place the odd scents. Slowly, memory awoke beside disorientation, and she sprung upright with a yelp. This _wasn’t her bed_. These weren’t her sheets, her pillow, her bedroom. _Where the fuck am I?_ Last night was a fragmented puzzle of shame and an obscene amount of tequila, but she distinctly remembered that she’d never made it to Sango’s. What the hell happened after she’d blacked out in that wretched alley? And these _weren’t her clothes_. Oh gods…had she been –? Kagome was throwing off the sheets and lifting the white, obviously male, shirt she wore before she could finish that thought. But these _were her panties._ Relief flooded her insides, and she exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

Wary, marginally calmer, Kagome observed the room she was in. It was…Spartan, with no hint of personality, walls white, furniture black. Her feet slid off the bed and touched the tiled floor then she was rising. The shirt was crumpled but large, reaching mid-thigh and…smelling like the bed. A man’s shirt, a man’s bed…and a man’s house. Teeth sank into her lip, chewed the wet flesh till it almost bled. With careful steps, she walked to the door and peeked out. Silence. More white, more black. Her gaze roved over what she recognized as the living room, but what she really needed to find was the bathroom. Kagome couldn’t leave dressed like this, and she bet that if her clothes were anywhere in the house, they should be in the bathroom.

Deeper inside, past the living room, she could make out the kitchen, and to her left, one closed door. Sprinting with rabbit-fleet motions, she made for the closed door, guessing it would be the bathroom, and she was right. Pristine, and unsurprisingly black-and-white-tiled, but no sign of her clothes. Kagome drowned a sigh then dragged her feet back to the living room. The owner was out, and she didn’t have the faintest clue when he’d return, or if she wanted to meet him. What if he was some kind of psycho killer, or worse…a reporter? She _was_ grateful that he’d saved her sorry ass, more or less, but his motives left much to question.

Her nose scrunched; her lips pursed; and her stomach growled. Perhaps she could…help herself to some breakfast? If he’d gone to the trouble of picking her up, maybe he wouldn’t mind feeding her as well? Her stomach growled again, decided for her. The fridge was…humongous, and inside, everything was wrapped in cellophane and plastic, tagged and organized. Her brows knitted into a frown, but she filed it for later contemplation. She pulled out the containers with _cheddar_ , _turkey_ , and _mayonnaise_ written on them, and placed them on the…black table. Cupboard after cupboard, she searched for plates, and while doing so, she discovered that everything were in even numbers and aligned to the right side. Kagome chuckled. So he was a hypochondriac with severe OCD. And didn’t that fit the profile of a serial killer to a T?

Shaking her head, Kagome made the sandwich then put everything right back where she’d found them, in the exact order they had been. When she was finished, she washed the plate, despite there being a dishwasher, and sauntered into the living room. What stood out the most in this black and white matrix was the library. It spread across one wall, filled with books, CDs, DVDs…and labels. What was it with this man and order? It bordered on psychosis. Humming softly, her fingers flitted over the shelves, picking up titles as she went. Books on mathematics, physics, chemistry, sci-fi movies, pieces of classical music. A serial killer with a geek factor…or otherwise interpreted – an insane genius. Kagome was far from a brainless idiot, but these books…they were far above the intellect of a normal person.

She was still seized with bewilderment and awe when a _click_ resounded. Kagome prayed he wasn’t a mad scientist or a psycho killer…because he was evidently clever enough to make his victims disappear if he wanted to.  


	2. Fuck Eccentric

Kagome stressed her ears after that foreboding _click_ , devoured the littlest sound – keys jingling, soft tapping of buttons, the alarm being deactivated with a _beep_ , and quiet footsteps. Her tongue had dried, stuck to the roof of her mouth. Lips pressed tight, near bruising, she swallowed back apprehension and turned to meet the owner of the flat – her savior, she reminded herself. It wasn't courteous to give in to baseless fear and judge him before he even spoke. For all she knew, he could be a regular guy with a weakness for pitiful drunk women. Or a lunatic who kidnapped women nobody would miss for his inhumane experiments.

Shivers crawled down her spine when the word vivisection sliced through her brain with surgical precision. Kagome paled. _Please let him not be some wannabe Mengele._ Panic seeped into her pores, inflated her stomach, and settled in a queasy mass low in her abdomen – or maybe that was belated effects of cheap tequila. Then _she saw him._

Silence. Tension. Her eyes grew wide for a fragment of a second – then she blinked owlishly. His hair and skin were so…pale, almost white, that she could only stare, languish in processing what her optical nerves transmitted to her brain. But he was young, close to her age, maybe a bit older, though not by much – and his eyes…such a light shade of brown, like raw honey. Bright gold, white-lashed and strikingly exotic. Realization finally dawned on her. _He's…albino._

Now she felt like an asshole for staring at him like that. How fucking insensitive could she be? That guy had saved her life, and she was gawking at him as if he was some kind of freak show – which _he wasn't_. Underneath all the…unique traits, he was quite handsome, all angles and high-cut bones…and sinewy muscles. His dress shirt stretched over his torso, three buttons unfastened and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, outlining hard muscle and litheness. Then _he spoke_.

"I see that you are awake. Good."

His voice cut through the silence, rippled over her skin, self-assured tones and deepness. She was stunned speechless. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out. It didn't matter. He was extending his arm and offering her the paper bag he carried in the next second with such naturalness that it became…unnatural.

"Here are your clothes, washed and dry and ironed."

Kagome took a few hesitant steps, and reached to take the bag. This situation was highly bizarre – and awkward. Shaking her head, she snapped out of her minute stupor. A quirk of lips, all that she gave him, not quite a smile, and confusion.

"You really didn't have to go to all that trouble. Thank you, uh –?"

Something flashed in his gaze then, and he stood a little straighter.

"Oh. Of course." Neck slanted, smile polite. "Sesshōmaru."

Confusion melted away with a sigh of relief. Not only did he appear to be relatively normal, but he also hadn't bothered with surnames. Kagome grinned a sunny grin, more grateful for that fact than he could ever imagine. If…Sesshōmaru hadn't recognized her, she'd prefer it to remain that way. Not that anyone could make the connection between the poorly dressed, starving author Kagome was this past year and the lavishly dressed, empty-eyed doll she used to be.

"It's nice to meet you, Sesshōmaru. I'm Kagome." His chin dipped but nothing beyond that. Maybe it was his subtle way of telling her it was time to get out of his apartment. Kagome took the hint. "Anyway, thank you for picking me off the streets. I'm _very_ grateful."

"Don't be." Quick, sure-spoken, and wholly unexpected.

Taken aback, Kagome stared at him, more than a little aghast. Perhaps she had misheard him. "Sorry, what?"

A sigh spilled out of his throat, and she swore he clicked his tongue, then he was breaking out in the longest, weirdest tirade Kagome had ever received out of a total stranger, with such familiarity that it scared her.

"My brother was the one to… _pick you off the streets_ as you say, but when he brought you back, his current…girlfriend, and I use that term very lightly – it has less gravity than an apple, in my opinion, but he insists otherwise – had a fit and threatened to…neuter him with a pair of old, rusty scissors, if I recall correctly." Sesshōmaru winced, neck tilting to the side and rubbing one ear. Her mouth parted to ask what the fuck was that all about or at least if he could be more coherent and reach his main point soon, but he didn't give her time to even utter a single word.

"My hearing is rather impaired after their altercation. I didn't believe in fabled creatures such as banshees until last night, but she must be one wearing the guise of a human. It's a miracle you didn't wake up through the ruckus, now that I think of it. You must have drunk the Bosporus in alcohol – you certainly smelled like it."

Her brows twitched with a fierce scowl. If he wasn't done within the next minute, she would be tempted to whack him. Perhaps a head blow would reverse what damage he'd suffered…because he was not all that sane. And he _was still rambling_.

"To conclude that wretched affair –" _Finally!_ Kagome damn near wept. "– like my brother should have done instead of… _making up_ as he claimed, he rang my doorbell and dumped you on my doorstep. I couldn't very well leave you there. You were drooling on my doormat. Have you any idea how unsanitary that is?"

His last sentence sounded rhetorical but it could very well not be. Kagome wouldn't put it past him to begin another tirade where he listed all the reasons for how unsanitary that had been…in his opinion. Fortunately – Sesshōmaru didn't. Though by the time he finished, Kagome was gaping and glowering at him either way, her patience tied together by thin strings and coming undone lightning-quick. Sesshōmaru spared her a glance, the merest frown, as if she was the less sane in this equation. _He is…nuts. Fucking cuckoo._ There were no ifs or buts or maybes. He was clinically insane. There was only one road to take in this case – thank him, get dressed, and get the hell out of here. Immediately.

"Okay." Her smile was eerily sweet and full of placation, a mellow curve of lips. "Well…thank you anyway. I'm still grateful."

"Don't be."

Again with that messed up _don't be_. It made no fucking sense. Kagome shouldn't ask…she really shouldn't –

"Sorry again?" _Damn it_. Why had she asked? Maybe his insanity was infectious the more time she spent near him.

"Thanks to you, I'm now free of any obligations such as social outings with my brother for the remainder of the month. We already had three _this_ week. It's as if he doesn't even know the meaning of mourning."

Perhaps it was the fact that this rant was significantly terser in comparison to his previous one, or perhaps the expression that slathered his features, glum-ridden and suffered – Kagome couldn't tell what it was, but she found herself softening, wanting to…console him. Despite his mental and emotional instability, Sesshōmaru had offered her a place to stay the night while knowing nothing about her or her circumstances, had cleaned her clothes, and been nothing but a gentleman – a wacky one but still… The least she could do was show some concern and say she was damn sorry for his loss – before she left.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." She enunciated the phrase, genuine and laden with sympathy and a tad hoarse. "You lost someone recently?"

One curt nod. "Leonard Nimoy."

Kagome reeled back at the foreign name. It definitely didn't sound Japanese. Still, she asked, even though she shouldn't.

"Was he…family?"

His lashes fluttered; his lips thinned. Sesshōmaru seemed…insulted. Kagome almost stepped back, cursed herself for asking – but then he was pointing at the leather couch, his tone a lash of command and intensity.

"Sit."

She swallowed thickly, put some distance between them, but all she managed to do was collide with the back of the couch he bade her to sit upon. Her voice slipped past her lips tremulous and fear-licked.

"Excuse me?"

Then he spoke the words she was dreading.

"I can't let you leave now."

_Oh gods…he's going to kill me. I knew it! I should have left while I had the chance._ Mustering what little composure lurked behind the fear, she wetted her lips, willed her racing pulse down. Maybe she could make it to the door if she sprinted…maybe.

"Because –?"

Sesshōmaru walked to the library and retrieved what looked to be a DVD then turned toward her with eyes piercing and deathly calm.

"You and I are going to watch _The_ _Wrath of Khan_."

Even the movie title sounded…ominous – but it _was_ a movie. If all he wanted was to watch some movie with her in exchange for her freedom…she could live with that, or more like, her life depended on it. A squeak escaped her mouth, and a reluctant nod.

"O-kay?"

Kagome plopped herself down and didn't dare speak until the movie was over. By then, she only had one thing to say. Eyes narrowed into thin slits, voice clipped and deadpan, she peered at him under her lashes.

"Leonard Nimoy was not your family."

Sesshōmaru scoffed.

"He was more family to me than that unit of cells living on the floor below."

A sigh writhed across her tongue. It hadn't been a bad movie per se, though she was lost on some details, and Kagome preferred thriller, horror, splatter, and the occasional black comedy, but that was neither here nor there. Gods…the more she stayed the more she was being swept up in his pace. What was it with this man? It was imperative that she leave. Right now.

"Look, Sesshōmaru, I'm grateful for your hospitality…and for the movie, but I kinda have to go. Do you happen to know where my bag is?"

She didn't like his pause, or his frown.

"There wasn't any bag as far as I could see."

Her laptop was in that bag, her manuscripts, her dreams…her fucking life. _Calm down…don't panic._ Just because Sesshōmaru didn't have it that didn't mean she had been robbed. His brother could have simply forgotten to give it back in all the confusion. Sesshōmaru had mentioned there had been a messy quarrel with his girlfriend over her.

"Maybe your brother has it?"

"Quite possibly." Another frown. "But he's still at work."

Her smile was saccharine, dripping with plea.

"Can you maybe call him and ask if he has it?"

"Do I have to?"

Her chest vibrated with laughter but she valiantly held it in. He was like an overgrown kid with reclusive tendencies, compulsive behavioral patterns, and little grasp on social etiquette. Had she really thought he could be a serial killer? Unbelievable. Kagome chuckled softly.

"Please."

He made a disgruntled sound, part grunt, part sigh, but obliged her. Kagome didn't pay much attention to his phone call, giving him some measure of privacy, and was grateful it didn't last long. Sesshōmaru returned in less than two minutes…with devastating news.

"He says no."

Even though Kagome had somewhat prepared herself for that possibility, her curse escaped the confines of her mind, leapt out of her mouth guttural and laden with despair.

"Fuck me."

"I would rather not."

A crick racked her neck as she snapped her head toward him. There was _something_ in his voice, _un_ child-like, masculine rasp with a warp of amusement. It was… _a man's voice_. A smirk slashed across his cheekbone while she yet watched, devilish and swollen with taunt.

"But if you insist."

"You –" Her voice was nothing but sibilance, spitting venom. _He couldn't…he couldn't possibly have –_

Kagome leveled him with a glare, seething with indignation. "Are you messing with me or just…fucking crazy?"

His smirk split further, arched higher, and _that_ voice –

"It depends on your definition of either."

_He…fucking played me, and I ate it up like a damn fool._ Anger was too mild a word for what lanced through her. Kagome was _burning_ – but her voice was as cold as she was hot inside when she spoke the truth he had blatantly thrown in her face, made it real and tangible like the fire inundating her veins.

"You _are_ messing with me."

Sesshōmaru had the audacity to shrug. "I find that acting this way usually keeps people away."

"It was all…a lie?" She more growled than spoke, _burning_. "Just an act to get me off your back?"

"No." His smirk adopted sinful qualities, inflamed her, and she _knew_ his next words would piss her off. "Leonard Nimoy was real."

"Oh, fuck off."

Her teeth gnashed; her body shook. Kagome erupted in an explosion of manic laughter and spasms. Fucking absurd…all of it. When she could form words and not gurgling sounds, Kagome pinned him with a furious stare.

"Just how… _normal_ are you?"

He shrugged once more, as if this was an asinine question, as if she should know the answer. "No more than you."

Kagome clicked her tongue then snorted. _No more than me, huh?_ "Then you must be _fucking_ _crazy_." And she laughed again.

She was wiping tears and still shaking when she finally asked what she wanted to know the most. "Why did you drop the act?"

A grin this time – rows of white teeth and the decadent side of amusement. "Because you could take it."

It took her one long moment to digest that, and when it sank in, she bristled like a hissing feline.

"You're a…psychotic, bipolar, sadistic, arrogant, narcissistic son of a bitch."

His grin regressed to that half-smirk, mockery and some twisted sense of superiority.

"I'm also a genius which sums all those up in one word."

Her knuckles clenched and unclenched – the urge to smack him was overwhelming. Kagome refrained…just barely. Her tone imitated his, dipped in toxic resins.

"What word would that be?"

"Eccentric."

Kagome didn't smack him – but she did huff. _Fucking genius_.


End file.
